


ghosts of past and present

by matslightwood (unbrokengibberish)



Category: Roswell New Mexico (TV 2019)
Genre: Kyle Valenti mentioned, Liz Ortecho mentioned, M/M, Maria DeLuca mentioned, Max Evans mentioned, POV Alex Manes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-22
Updated: 2019-06-22
Packaged: 2020-05-16 17:57:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,093
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19323208
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unbrokengibberish/pseuds/matslightwood
Summary: The last few weeks have been absolute hell and Alex just wants to feel some semblance of his old self. Enter black nail polish and Isobel Evans.





	ghosts of past and present

**Author's Note:**

> So I haven't written fic in over two years I believe, but damn if Roswell didn't fuck me up something good. I don't want to wait until the new year for more, but in the meantime at least there's lots of fic.

Three bottles sat on the table in front of Alex: a bottle of nail polish remover that he’d been keeping in the cabin the last few weeks, not that any of the aliens had made it this way, but he wanted to be mindful just in case; a bottle of black nail polish that he’d impulsively purchased at the drug store after driving past the Pony to see Guerin’s truck parked in front during daylight hours; and a bottle of whiskey, because well you know.

He didn’t know what he was doing with all the bottles sat in front of him, but if he was being honest with himself, which was rare these days, he didn’t know what he was doing in general. He felt like his whole life had blown to pieces since he got back to Roswell. Not that it hadn’t literally blown to pieces overseas, but this was different.

His father was even more homicidal and dangerous than he would ever have imagined.

His new best friend was his teenage bully.

His best friend was preoccupied with the resurrection of her sister and the death of her boyfriend all in one hour.

Maria was...well, he hadn’t actually spoken to Maria in a few weeks. It was too hard. He was happy that she was happy (or he assumed she was happy; again he hadn’t spoken to her in a while) but that didn’t mean he had to show up for her. Regardless of all the shit he had done to push Guerin away, his oldest friend should have talked to him first before jumping into a relationship with his ex-whatever.

That left Guerin. He also hadn’t spoken to him in weeks. Everyone was busy trying to figure out a way to resurrect Max who had been in stasis in his pod for almost a month now. He knew Michael was a mess, but he figured that Maria and Isobel and hell even Liz were probably there to help him. It wasn’t his place anymore. The whole “let’s be friends” bullshit had more or less died with all the aliens at Caulfield. He was actively blocking out the part where he’d tried to confess his feelings to Michael and Michael had left him sitting on his trailer steps for 14 hours.

So now it’s been a few weeks since he’s talked to anyone and Kyle keeps calling him, but he can’t deal with him now either. He doesn’t blame him for drugging his dad to be honest, some sick part of him is happy that Kyle hadn’t just straight up shot the man, while another equally sick part of him wishes he had.

The shittiest part is that he can’t turn off the part of his brain that keeps replaying everything that’s gone down in the last few weeks. He knows that the whiskey is a bad idea, a worse idea when you take into account the cocktail of drugs he’s currently on, but he just thinks fuck it.

He takes a generous swig straight out of the bottle and then picks up the nail polish. He cracks it open and the smell, that toxic, fumey smell, takes him right back to being 17 again in a way that even Michael can’t.

He’s suppressed so much of himself over the last decade, but that smell brings the old Alex to the surface. It also causes a choked off sob to rip through his throat without his permission. He takes another swig of whiskey.

He can do this. Fuck his dad. Fuck the Evans’s. Fuck Michael and Maria and Liz who has been a shitty friend since they all got back.

He doesn’t really blame any of them (his father aside) but the burn of the alcohol in his throat and the burn of the polish in his nostrils have his brain fuzzy, even fuzzier than normal and he just doesn’t care anymore.

He’s tired of the act that he’s had to put on for the last decade. Tired of the fact that he has had to hide every part of him that he actually likes since that day in the shed. He just wants to feel some semblance of the person that he used to be. The person that he used to like. The person that Michael fell in love with.

No fuck that. He’s not thinking about that right now. This is about him. He needs to get his own shit together first.

He unscrews the cap of the nail polish the rest of the way, pulls out the brush and just looks at it. He vaguely remembers Liz or Maria or Rosa telling him that he needs to use base coat and top coat if he actually wants it to look good, but again fuck them all. This isn’t about looking good; this is about finally sticking up to his father, proving to himself that he can be just as much of a Manes man as the rest of them without prescribing to their sick and twisted form of toxic masculinity.

He swipes the brush over the thumb on his left hand. A tear rolls down his face. He rubs his cheek against his shoulder and finishes off the nail. He sets the bottle down and takes another swig of whiskey. He starts choking and he’s glad no one is here to see this disturbed form of self torture that he is partaking in.

He finishes one hand like that, crying and choking and getting more drunk by the moment.

A loud knock comes from the front door and he jumps so much that the brush falls, staining the rug and getting polish all over his hand. Fuck.

The second knock is louder, angrier. He fucking understands the feeling.

He has no idea who it is and if he wasn’t already a few sheets to the wind he probably wouldn’t open the door but as it is he doesn’t care. Or maybe he does, but he’s trying to pretend he doesn’t.

The last person he expects to see on the other side is Isobel Evans.

“What?” he greets her and he must look as wrecked as he feels because the ice mask melts immediately and she goes to move like she’s going to reach out to touch him. He steps back. No.

“Alex…”

“What do you want, Isobel? There is no one here.”

“You’re here.”

“And?”

“I’m here to talk to you, you absolute asshole.”

Alex steps back in shock, losing balance on his prosthetic and almost toppling to the ground. Isobel catches him and helps steady him.

“What?” he repeats again.

“No one has heard from you in weeks. Do you think were not all going through shit? We don’t need to be worried about you on top of that!”

“Who’s worried about me?” He means for it to come out as biting, sarcastic, but that hint of concern that he always feels for his friends, for him, bleeds into his words.

“Who do you think?” Isobel’s hands are placed on her hips and she is looking at him like he is the stupidest man in the world. And maybe he is.

“Why are you here though?”

“Because one of my brother’s is dead and the other one’s an idiot who is going to get himself killed trying to bring the first one back.”

“Wait… you guys haven’t solved the Max problem yet?” He cringes at his own phrasing.

“No, you asshole, we haven’t figured out the ‘Max problem’ yet.” Isobel’s face is flashing a million emotions and he wonders momentarily if she’s going to crawl into his brain and fix him. Maybe that’s what he wants. “Don’t you think someone would have let you know?”

“I didn’t think anyone would care to!” Alex shouts and his throat aches and he feels tears spring back up into his eyes. He tries to stop it. The last person in the world he wants to cry in front of is Isobel Evans.

“Alex… your friends care about you… hell, I care about you.” Isobel doesn’t say things that she doesn’t mean. She is the most straightforward person that Alex has ever met. He feels the truth behind her words and he crumples. Any bravado that he was trying to put on melts and he turns around and slumps down on the couch. He just can’t stand any more.

Isobel follows him inside, uninvited, but it doesn’t surprise him. She sits down in one of the arm chairs and looks from him to the three bottles on the table. She raises one perfectly manicured eyebrow. “I thought you left the emo phase behind for the army?”

“Airforce,” he corrects automatically. “Wasn’t really my choice.”

Isobel sucks in a breath. “Alex...Michael told us everything…”

Alex looks up to see tears brimming on Isobel’s eyes and with everything he’s seen in the last few weeks, Isobel Evan crying has to be the strangest. But then again, she’s been through hell and back herself and even Isobel Evans has a breaking point.

“It’s…” He doesn’t even know where that sentence could go.

“He loves you. I shouldn’t be telling you that, but he does.”

“Isobel, our problem has never been whether or not he loves me.” Even with all the shit they’ve been through the last few weeks, the last decade, hell since they met, Alex has never really doubted that Michael loves him. He’s never doubted that he loves Michael either.

He’s just doubted everything else.

“He’s with Maria now, anyway… it doesn’t matter.”

The laugh that Isobel barks out isn’t what he’s expecting. He looks up at her shocked.

“Oh, you’re serious,” she says composing herself. “Alex, sweetie, that ended about five minutes after it started.”

“What?”

“You seriously didn’t know.”

“No, I thought ---” Alex doesn’t know what he thought. He thought that even if he was miserable at least Michael was happy. But if that’s not even the case, what’s the point? What’s the point of any of this.

“Alex…” Isobel cuts through his thoughts again.

“I should go talk to him…” Alex doesn’t know why or what he’ll say, but he has a sudden overpowering need to be near Michael, to hear his voice, see his face, touch him.

“You should,” Isobel starts, “But first you should let me fix your nails. Besides, I think he’s with Liz right now anyway.” Isobel has already picked up the bottle of nail polish remover and a q-tip that he doesn’t remember setting out. She takes a swig before coating the q-tip and holding out her hand expectantly.

Alex sighs and holds out his hands to her. She grabs one and starts cleaning up the streak of polish on his fingers.

“Why’s he with Liz?” Alex asks after a few moments of silence.

“They’ve been spending a lot of time together. They’re trying to figure out how to get Max back; it’s brought them closer… it’s sweet,” Isobel says, opening the bottle of polish and elegantly sweeping the black over Alex’s nails. She doesn’t sound convinced. Or maybe she’s just as miserable as Alex.

“How are you doing?” he asks, because fuck she’s gone through a lot in the last few weeks.

“I’m fine.”

“Isobel…”

A tear splashes on his hand and it’s not his.

“I just want them both to be okay.” Tears run down Isobel’s cheek, but her hands stay steady. “We’re all we’ve ever had. I can’t… I can’t lose them.”

“Hey…” Alex starts, adapting a soothing voice that he’s used to putting on. He can do this, be there for someone else. “You’re not going to lose either of them. If Liz and Michael are on it, I’m sure Max will be awake any day now. And you’re sure as hell not going to lose Michael. He’d burn the whole of Earth if it meant keeping you safe.”

“That makes two of us,” Isobel says, looking up as she finishes his nails. He can’t meet her eye so he looks at his own hands.

They are scarred and damaged and trembling from so many things he can’t even remember them all, but they are his hands. They look like his hands. For once in about a decade, he feels just that much more comfortable in his own skin. If he can do this, paint his nails, open up to Isobel Evans, maybe everything else will work itself out as well.

But first he needs to have a few hard conversations with the people he’s been pushing away. 

**Author's Note:**

> I am currently in the process of gathering stuff to apply for an MFA and I decided that I could use my obsessive mentality where it comes to Michael/Alex to maybe spark some of the old creativity back into my brain so that I can write a decent sample. 
> 
> Or: I'm obsessed with Michael/Alex and needed to start venting. 
> 
> This might turn into a multi-chapter with conversations with other characters...


End file.
